Just a Dreamer
by BittersweetSparrow
Summary: Working title. A reworking of events during and after Mass Effect 3, to better assuage my own sense of dissatisfaction and listlessness following the climax of the trilogy, and personal lack of closure. Contains flashbacks to ME2. Femshep/Thane, probably some character death, though perhaps not the obvious one. Haven't decided how it will go yet. M rating just in case.
1. Foreword

**Foreword**  
So…it's been a long time. Both since I wrote, and since I played Mass Effect. I was behind on the series from the start. I didn't play it when it first came out, and really only sat down to do it just recently. I made…not sure if it was the mistake, or not, to play all three in one fell swoop. I got to enjoy no wait times between the games, of course, but it also meant…well. More emotional impact at once. Seeking an outlet for my feelings, I'm jotting down this little story about how I would have liked to see things go. Of course, it deviates from the canon, but isn't that what fan fiction is all about?

I understand that most people read these stories with their own Shepards in mind, and to that end I've done my best to omit use of her first name as much as I can. I also have attempted to be vague in description of things like hair color, eyes, all that. However, I played my Shepard as a paragon, and there isn't much I can do to help writing her behavior. She is how she is, so those who prefer a more renegade Shepard might want to look elsewhere, because she'll likely seem a bit goody-two-shoes in comparison. For a basic run down of how I played the game, and to give insight into how this will likely go, my Shepard was a spacer, sole survivor, paragon. She left Ash behind, and saved the council at the end of ME1. She destroyed the collector base at the end of ME2, and saved her entire crew. This story will take place during and after ME3, so it will deviate from the ending I chose for her in that game. Also, I don't go in for the whole indoctrination theory. It's really interesting, and all, but I'd not heard of it before I played the games, and my reactions at the ending were entirely emotion-driven. Only after I read about that theory did I begin to really dislike the end choices, if only because it began to make me think too much.

I originally ended ME3 with synthesis in my main save. Destruction would have been my second choice. To be frank, I was okay with those endings. I liked the extended cuts for them all. It was more the middle content of the game that made me unhappy, and though the synthesis ending gave my Shepard closure, I still ended up just sitting about listlessly for a few days after. I'm sure you know that awful feeling you get when you finish a book or game, and the characters all have closure, but YOU don't, and you sit there thinking 'Now what?' So I opted to change things up. A bit here. A touch there. I'm hoping for some eventual DLC that will do something about those lingering discontent feelings, but until then...fan fiction!

I can't promise all the details will be correct. I am going to be doing my best to research and reread the game info on all the topics that come up in this tale, and will be writing with the Mass Effect Wiki firmly lodged in an alternate tab for fact checking. If you do spot something horribly egregious, please feel free to comment on it, and I'll see what I can do to retcon it properly. However, this is a work of the heart, more than the mind. In some cases, simple changes will be necessary to smooth the way for what I hope to do.

...Sheesh. Did I ramble long enough there? So much for this being a little intro author's note. Apparently this is now a foreword. Whoops!


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**AN: Starting for real now. This begins shortly after the end of ME2, but before the start of ME3. The reapers have not arrived yet, but will soon. Also, I know there's plenty of DLC from ME2 as well as other books and comics and all that that goes on between it and ME3. I didn't have any of the DLC, but I did what I could to read up on the timeline of events between the two. My Shepard didn't go to jail, as I didn't have that DLC. She was simply grounded and put on desk duty. In this story ME3 begins something like 6-12 months after ME2 ends with the destruction of the Collector base. I'll probably go wiht...say, eight months. The most recent of those six would be the time Shep was grounded. Yes, that sounds good. Let's go with that.**

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The rattling bustle of footsteps over hard floors was dimmed with the wooshing pass of the electronic steel door that divided Commander Shepard's office from the rest of the base. The glass windows of the base let light flow in, and Shepard caught a brief view of the sprawling modern city of Vancouver before the pistons that sealed the door clamped it shut with a faint hiss. Her own office was nothing spectacular. At first it had seemed nice, even. Not too big, or too small. After the Normandy it seemed almost spacious, but it was cramped enough that she didn't find herself put off by all the empty room. Bookshelves lined one wall, and a few potted plants brought much needed color to the otherwise spartan cube. Her desk was scattered with data pads, and more archaic papers and folders. One corner sported a framed picture of her mother, Hannah Shepard, smiling. It'd been taken on the day her daughter had accepted her commission into the Alliance military, and she'd said she couldn't be prouder. It was a fond memory, and it fit in with the minimal other photos (containing memories of her friends from the first Normandy, and the second) that speckled the otherwise military-sparse landscape that was her desk.

Her boots thumped over the metallic floor, an echoing imitation of the duller thumps from outside, before muting in the thin carpet she'd been spared to cover the center of the room. Lunch was always a welcome excuse to duck out of the office. Paper pushing had never been something she'd aspired too, and her fragile relationship with the Alliance after her involvement with Cerberus meant that the data she dealt with was outright dull. Of course, she like everyone still had her sources, and no and then something of interest would slip through the cracks and onto her terminal's screen, but it had been ages since there'd been a word or whisper of anything to do with Reapers. It had become almost dull enough to make her stop worrying about it. It certainly had been boring enough to make her start thinking of her cubicle as more of a cell than she'd find in a jail. Maybe she shouldn't have been so honest about her feelings about Cerberus. Some jail time might have been more stimulating than sitting, pouring over basic reports day after day after day.

She set her glass down on the edge of the desk and ran a hand through her hair, scratching at her scalp gently in passing, briefly twisting a strand in agitation. Another handful of hours before she could retire for the night.

A small blinking light in the corner of the terminal caught her eye only after some time. Peace times weren't exactly the busiest times for the Alliance, and she'd really had only enough data to go through that afternoon to take up three fourths of the time she had left to kill on base. She'd been staring absently at her pictures, trying to come up with some sort of interesting plan for the still-too-far weekend that she would be able to pull off while still under military supervision, and hadn't noticed when it'd blinked to life.

With only a vague interest, born of more than enough letters of pure political babble that'd make a twenty first century lawyer cry from boredom, she tapped the icon with a finger, bringing up the inbox of winking new mail addressed to her. A grimace flitted over her face as she scoured the list. One from Udina, a hearty serving of notes from her immediate superiors...hello though, what was this? A name she didn't recognize glowed at her form the screen's 'from' column. The subject said simply "RE: Sunday?" She was damn sure she hadn't sent anyone any letters about doing anything on the weekend. At best she was hoping to find an old vid to distract her from the lingering sense of foreboding that had followed her around like a lost puppy after her most recent spree across the galaxy. Her friends had all scattered to the wind after their return. She couldn't blame them, wouldn't blame them. The crew of the Normandy-2 had been mainly Cerberus' men. At first.

By the time the final battle was done and over, they were her soldiers, and no one else's. The decision to return the Normandy to the Alliance had been something like difficult, but she'd made it with enough time to drop the various operatives at their ports of choice before finally turning the helm for Earth. It'd been particularly painful to leave behind her alien crew. Some of them she'd known longer than anyone else. Garrus, Tali...They had been with her from teh very start. Others, though newer, had become just as dear to her. Each had their place though, and despite the aches that came with parting, she knew they would be well, and be happy without her for a time. Grunt had returned to Tuchanka to better come to know and care for his people. Samara had left to return to whatever duties her code had held her to. She'd been outside Asari space long enough. Mordin...well, she wasn't entirely sure where the Salarian had gotten off to. He'd become a rather close friend with her, or at least she'd seen it that way, but he had been vague near the end. Probably something the STG had taught him. Or maybe his own nature. She'd left him with Garrus at the Citadel, and hadn't heard from him since.

Chakwas had also departed at the Citadel, though she'd lost track of her over the months. Another one who'd been with her from the start. A brief memory of shared drinks in the med bay flitted through the Commander's thoughts, tweaking her lips into the slightest of smiles. The crew had had a hearty laugh at her wobbling after that, and she'd left them with some choice words before steadying herself, thinking it had been a silly thing to do, and that she couldn't know how Thane would react to her coming drunken into the area he'd staked out as his own. Ah, Thane…The smile faltered, falling form her lips then. A dull ache seemed to radiate out from the core of her being. She'd left the Drell behind as well, and with a burst of memory that she sadly thought might rival even his flashes of recollection, her mind skimmed through the memory of a final kiss, the fading warmth as his body pulled from hers, the tingle of mixed pleasure and bitter, bitter sorrow as his hand trailed down her arm, over her palm, her fingers, and then was gone. He'd vanished into the crowd as only he could do. She could feel her heart twist and tighten in her chest. She'd known he wouldn't be able to go with her to Earth. It still had hurt though, more than she'd been ready for.

Much of her relationship with the Drell she hadn't been ready for though, to be honest. From a respect of his skills, though a distaste for his profession, to understanding, sympathy, empathy...friendship...love...Somewhere along the lines she'd lost track of what her heart should be doing, and let it become fixated on the wonderful man. It had been unintentional, for both of them, but long hours of time spent conversing together about everything from history to religion and back again had fostered more than friendship, and they had both finally admitted to their shared feelings shortly before the approach to the Omega-4 relay.

Her heart clenched in her chest. They'd been so close then. She missed him.

The winking light of the unread messages demanded her attention at last then, as a new one stacked atop the strange unrecognizable note from...Tannor Nuara? No, she didn't know that name at all. With a grumble (she would never admit to being glad for the Alliance's data bombardment pulling her out of her little pity party) she hunched forward, tugging her chair along with her, and dragged over a data pad. With quick working fingers she began to flick through the emails, starting with the oldest, and pulling bits of data from the terminal onto the data pad, so that she could distribute it into the reports that required it at her leisure later. The monotonous work quickly dried what tears had begun to think of welling in her eyes, and the next hour or two whizzed by in a blur of boring reports and blinding statistics.

She sighed as she emptied the data pad for the third time, dragging a collection of charts and graphs from it and into a report that as far as she could figure had something to do with core ejection on certain high density planets over the course of several hundred years, and tossed the glowing orange monstrosity away from her. It clattered to a rest on the desk top, blinking off with what almost sounded like an annoyed beep. She'd filtered through a good number of the messages. No one could say she hadn't done her fair share of work for the day, right? Ugh, she hated paper pushing. Data pushing. Whatever the term would be these days. Several unread emails still blinked irritatingly from the terminal, and she'd all but forgotten the unknown sender's note. More than likely she would have left it unread until the next day if the name hadn't stood out like a sore thumb amongst all the other military senders.

Certain it would be some sort of advertising scam (even on the base they managed to slip through with almost disturbing regularity) she clicked it open. Her eyes wandered down the screen to the first word of the letter, and the world stood still. She could swear her heart had become lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.

_Siha._

Her hand trembled on the screen, making the letter start and jump up and down, halting her reading. She yanked it back as if it had been burned, pouring over that one word. Siha. Her eyes shot down to the rest of the letter, and she grasped about on the desk for her drink, left long standing. Her mouth had gone suddenly dry, and she barely managed to get the liquid to her mouth without spilling it everywhere.

_Siha._

_ I regret that we have not been able to speak in so much time. I am well, and you should know that the garden we started when last you visited the Citadel is coming along fine. The weeds continue to crop up, but a patient hand and diligence has kept their imapct minor. Do you remember that cafe we visited? I hear they've begun serving new items. Even that kind of tea you liked, with the pear. Is it still your favorite? We should meet up again the next chance you get, you can tell me how it compares. As to Sunday, I'm afraid I can't get a shuttle that soon. It's a shame. I would have liked to stop in and pay a visit. Maybe you could see if the Vancouver branch carries the new tea, and write me back about how it was? I would greatly enjoy hearing from you. _

_ It has been too long._  
_ Until then, know that we are thinking of you._  
_ Tannor Nuara_

The words didn't make sense to her, but she found herself pouring over the letter again and again until finally they did. She should have known he would have dome something like this. Briefly she wondered what would have happened if she hadn't deciphered his little code...But she had! And it was all she could do to bite back the yelp of joy that wanted to burst from her like something primal and wild. The first word had make the sender clear, despite the false name he'd used to send it from. Tannor Nuara...It sounded almost like a human name. Clever Thane. The meaning of his garden metaphor had clicked in her head on the second try, and she felt a weight she hadn't known was hanging on her drop off. He was doing alright. Still fighting the Kepral's. Thank god.

By the fifth reading she figured she had the rest right. There were a few cafes she knew of in the United Alien Embassies fairly near to the base. They were somewhere a visiting alien could get freely in and out of, and not draw too much attention, and the crowds were always bustling too much for any one person to stand out. She'd never been inside though, and for that matter she'd never tried pear tea in her life. A quick extranet search revealed what she'd suspected-one of the cafes had a pear in its logo. Maybe she was reading it all wrong, but for the moment she couldn't imagine it meaning anything else. The rest of the day sped by in a blur, punctuated only by her lingering grin, and frequent rereading of the letter.

Somehow that sneaky Drell had gotten himself to Earth. And now the weekend couldn't come fast enough.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

**Mmph. Thanks for sticking that out. Writing's harder than I remember. This chapter's pretty dull, but oh well. Also, I realize that odds are Thane and Shep couldn't meet up at all during the months between her return to the Alliance and the start of ME3, but I like to think they at least managed to get some messages to each other. And maybe, just maybe, managed to visit once or twice. Since Shep can't go traipsing off to the Citadel, Thane had to come to her. He'll stick out like a big green thumb, but there have to be some embassies on Earth for aliens. and aliens gotta eat! It's workable, right?**

**Comments are always welcome; constructive feedback breeds better stories, right?  
**


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